Primal fury the primal s.., p.14
PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series), page 14
Four thousand miles away another man was gasping for breath, this time in a poorly ventilated basement.
Shedir was secured to a chair, his head tipped back, a wet towel covering his face. Mirza stood above him with a bucket of water. Kruger and Miklos were holding the chair back on an angle. Pavel was ready with the next bucket.
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation, my friend.” The man speaking was an immaculately dressed Arab, Tariq Ahmed. With his neatly trimmed beard and fitted Savile Row suit, PRIMAL’s financial benefactor would have looked at home in one of the finest fashion houses of Europe; however, he remained, at times, a field operative. In particular, he liked to keep a close hand on affairs in his home country. “You’ve gotten yourself into a particularly undesirable situation. You see, I happen to be a firm advocate of women’s rights and I tend to look poorly on men who treat them like merchandise.”
“Listen, my brother, I have done nothing—”
A nod from Tariq and the wet towel was whipped over the man’s face. Mirza sent a stream of water pouring over it, silencing him. A second or so and the flow stopped. The captive spluttered and coughed as the drowning reflex kicked in. Waterboarding was only one of a number of interrogation methods available to Tariq, but it was still favored due to its lack of physical trauma. The only wounds it left were psychological.
“I am not your brother, Shedir Sajwani. No brother of mine would peddle in the flesh of innocent children. You are a dog. In fact, more worthless than any dog. You are like the dirt that occasionally sticks to my shoe. Do you agree?”
“Yes—yes…” he sobbed.
“Tell me everything you know and perhaps I will let you live.”
Shedir coughed again. “I don’t know anything more, I promise. The Hungarian, András, he would arrange the auctions. I would go, bid on the girls, and if I won they would be delivered to my clients. That is all, I promise. I know nothing of the Japanese. I had never seen them before, I swear by the prophet.”
“I think you’re lying,” said Tariq.
Mirza dropped the wet towel over his face again.
“No, no, I swear I’m telling the truth. I swear.” The Arab sex trafficker’s hysterical voice was muffled under the towel. The room filled with the acrid smell of urine.
Tariq signaled for Mirza to remove the towel. When it was off he leaned in close. “I want you to give me the names of all of your clients, every single one. If I find out you have left any out, you are going to experience discomfort far beyond a wet face. Do you understand?”
The terrified Arab nodded vigorously and Tariq signaled for the CAT operatives to right his chair. They sat him upright and released his hands.
Tariq brought another chair over and sat down, crossing his legs elegantly. He looked relaxed and comfortable as he opened a leather-bound notebook. “Before we start, is there anything you would like? Perhaps a glass of water?” He gave the man a wry smile.
Shedir shook his head.
“Very well, let us begin.”
CHAPTER 36
PRIMAL HQ, LASCAR ISLAND
“So what have we got, guys?” Vance arrived in the Bunker conference room and dropped into a chair at the head of the table. The other occupants of the room included Chen Chua and one of his analysts. Sixteen hours had passed since Bishop and his team had left the hangar in Ukraine, a long time in the world of espionage.
“We’ll start with what we got out of Hungary. Flash has been working on intel from the castle,” said Chua.
“Morning, Vance,” said Paul “Flash” Gordon, Chua’s signals intelligence analyst. A former member of the National Security Agency, he specialized in tearing apart communications networks and exploiting electronic devices.
“Morning, Flash. You get out on the blacktop yesterday?”
Both he and Vance had a collection of old-school motorcycles in the hangar that they tinkered with in their downtime, racing on the island’s airstrip when they could get the bikes to work.
“Yeah, gave the Vincent a run.”
“How’d she pull up?”
“Bit rough. I can’t get that new carburetor to idle smoothly.”
“Might come good. Give it some time.”
“True. Worst case, I’ll get Mitch to have a look at it.”
“You want to ride it, not be flung into orbit!”
Flash laughed as he activated his tablet and got down to the business at hand. “Like Chua said, I’ve been working the exploitation piece from the castle in Hungary. The good news is Bishop’s Trojan gave us full access to their network. The bad news is, it looks like the data has been cleaned.”
“What does that mean?” Vance asked.
“It means that someone has been through it with a fine-tooth comb and removed every trace of our Japanese friends.”
“Or it was never there in the first place,” Vance added. “These guys seem to have pretty tight OPSEC.”
“True. So right now, apart from the names Bishop identified and the Yakuza link Kurtz dug up, the only other real useful piece of info was the phone Mirza grabbed.”
“That the one András had?”
“Yeah, it looks as if he changed it regularly. No stored numbers, wiped his recent calls; like you said, these guys run pretty tight OPSEC. However, I still managed to pull a couple of numbers from it. One was to the local cops; the other was a number I traced back to France. To be more precise, Lyon.”
“Lyon? Why does that ring a bell?” Vance asked.
“It’s the HQ of Interpol.”
“No shit, so we think that András had a link back to Interpol?”
“Yep. The number is now inactive and it seems to have been bought under an alias; however, we’re still crunching data and should get a solid lead soon.”
“Keep on it. If some corrupt Interpol clown is neck deep in this, I want to know about it. That it?”
Flash nodded. “I’ll get back to it and let you both know as soon as we get something more concrete.”
“Roger, and we’ll get out on the bikes sometime soon.”
“For sure.” Flash ambled out through the conference room’s door.
“Anything from the boys in the Ukraine?” Vance asked Chua.
“Negative. Aleks and Kurtz haven’t had anything to report. No sign of any suspect behavior in Svalyava.”
“Well, there was always the chance the Yakuza would get away. The guys from the castle have probably hightailed it back to Japan. What about the Abu Dhabi lead?”
“Interrogation report came in a few hours ago. Tariq wrung a few names out of him but nothing else.”
“Just names?”
“Clients. We’ll develop a plan for each one and put the authorities onto them. If additional action is required, I will bring them to you for sign-off.”
“And Shedir himself?”
“He could have identified Tariq, so he had an accident. It would seem that alcohol and swimming pools don’t mix.”
“A bit embarrassing for a Muslim to be drunk, isn’t it?” asked Vance.
“It must be,” Chua agreed. “The police are reporting it as a heart condition.”
“So where does that leave us now? Just Flash’s work on that phone?”
“That and Japan itself. Bishop and Saneh are due on the ground in the next few hours.”
“And their contact?”
“Ivan’s report is positive, it’s just…”
“What? You don’t trust his guy?”
“I’d like to say yes, but it’s too early to tell and we’re fast-tracking the process. He’s checking all the boxes but I can’t hang my hat on this one without more time developing him.”
“Your gut feeling?”
“You know me, I don’t run on feelings. But the facts are in his favor. He’s divorced, middle-aged, lost a family member to a stray Yakuza bullet, and seems genuinely interested in making a difference.”
“So you’re happy for Bishop to make contact when he arrives in Japan? Because if you’re not, we can wait.”
Chua studied his tablet for a few seconds. “It’s all good. Let’s make it happen.”
CHAPTER 37
NARITA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, TOKYO, JAPAN
Bishop left immigration with his backpack slung over one shoulder and joined the crowds of travelers moving in and out of Narita International Airport, one of the world’s busiest air terminals.
A few minutes later he was sitting in a taxi as it weaved through the dense Tokyo traffic. He checked his phone, the latest iPRIMAL model. He pressed his thumb against the touch screen and it unlocked the device. Without his biometric imprint it was just a normal smartphone. Even if someone hacked it they would not reveal its capability. He checked his message log, no new intel updates. There was a message from Saneh. She had traveled separately and was waiting at the hotel for him.
During the flight from Europe he had read through the intel package from the Bunker. He agreed with Chua’s assessment that the Japanese police officer Baiko looked like a perfect PRIMAL source. Ivan had recommended him; the former KGB spy and PRIMAL’s lead Blade was rarely off on his assessment of a man’s character.
The taxi driver pulled over to the curb and Bishop glanced out the window. A huge gray fortress of a building filled the skyline, the National Police Agency headquarters.
“Brian Wilson to see Inspector Baiko,” Bishop said as he approached the reception desk. He left his details with the female police officer and took a seat in the waiting area. He picked up a magazine and started flicking through the bright pictures. He paused on a photo of two Japanese women dressed in fluorescent colors with their faces painted to look like cartoon characters. He did not understand Japanese taste.
“Mr. Wilson?”
Bishop looked up. Baiko looked nothing like a disgruntled policeman. He had strong angular features, a short neat haircut, and a set of broad shoulders that filled his suit jacket.
Bishop stood and grasped the outstretched hand. “Inspector Hajime Baiko?”
“This is correct. Can I please see your identification?”
Bishop pulled his fake FBI contractor pass from his pocket and handed it over.
The Japanese officer handed it back to him with a nod. “We will head upstairs to my office.”
Bishop followed him through the security gates and into the elevator. They said nothing as they climbed up fourteen floors.
“Welcome to the organized crime section,” Baiko said as the doors opened. He led the way into a large open-plan office space. They stopped at a small kitchenette. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Sounds great, thanks.”
Baiko poured two black coffees from a percolator as Bishop surveyed the room. A line of enclosed offices and an open-plan area filled with cubicles covered the entire floor. Room for about thirty or forty people if it was full. Currently it was occupied by half a dozen officers. None paid any attention to his presence.
“This way.” Baiko handed him a hot mug and led him across to one of the individual offices. He offered Bishop a chair and took his place behind a sleek white desk. The office was immaculate. Bishop noted the complete absence of plaques or other career memorabilia. He dropped his backpack on the floor and took a seat.
“Your friend from the embassy said you are looking into the sex-trafficking industry,” Baiko said matter of factly. His English was accented but near fluent.
“Yes, the FBI’s asked me to track down a lead they uncovered in Europe.”
“They don’t do their own work anymore?”
“The Bureau often uses contractors to chase up leads. If this turns out to be solid, they’ll deploy a full team to work with you on the case.”
“But until then it is just you?”
“Yep, just me.”
“Interesting…and the lead?”
“Not much I’m afraid. Only two words to be precise. Mori-Kai.” Bishop watched Baiko’s face for any sign of recognition.
The police officer smirked. “Mori-Kai? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“The Mori-Kai was one of Japan’s deadliest and most ruthless families.”
“Really? What else do you know?”
Baiko chuckled. “I know that now, they no longer exist. You’ve flown halfway around the world to chase ghosts, Mr. Wilson. The Mori-Kai family has been dead for hundreds of years.”
“We think they might be back, or at least someone is using their name. Possibly an element of the Yakuza.”
Baiko drank from his coffee, contemplating Bishop’s words. Then he placed the mug back on the desk. “This is possible. I did hear a rumor a while back of a new underground Yakuza element in the Osaka region. Perhaps this is your Mori-Kai.”
“The guys we’re looking for have been running an international kidnapping syndicate. Collecting women in Eastern Europe and shipping them out to clients across the world. We think they’re running the show out of Japan.”
“It is not like the Yakuza to spread their criminal activity internationally. Business, yes, but kidnapping? Very unlikely.”
“One of their bosses called himself Masateru. Does that help?”
“This is a very common name. Do you have a photo?”
Bishop unzipped his backpack and pulled out a printed photo. It was a shot the team had taken of the Japanese man Kurtz had pushed from the helicopter.
“I don’t have one of Masateru, but this is one of his thugs. We arrested him in Europe. He was trying to move twelve teenage girls out of the country.”
“Can you e-mail that to me?” Baiko pushed his card across the table and then logged in to his desktop.
“Sure.” Bishop used his iPRIMAL to send a digital version of the photo from an anonymous Gmail account.
A few seconds later the Japanese policeman was running the image through his databases.
“No matches,” he said after about thirty seconds of searching. “That is very unusual. I ran it against all of our databases. Even if he wasn’t listed on the criminal system he should appear on our immigration database. It is almost as if he doesn’t exist.”
“Could someone have scrubbed him from the system?”
“That is possible. The Yakuza have people in most levels of government. Usually they would not bother with such a small matter. They own plenty of judges, so why hide?”
“So this guy’s definitely well connected?”
“Maybe, but it is also possible that he is not Japanese. Perhaps he is Korean.”
Bishop shook his head. “No, he’s Japanese all right. I just need to find out where he’s from.”
“If your man is using the name Mori-Kai then he is most likely from the Osaka-Kobe area. If they exist, then that is where they will be, and only one organization will know about them.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Yamaguchi-gumi.”
“Yakuza?”
“The biggest. They are the ones that can tell you more.”
“Don’t you have a police contact I can speak to first?”
Baiko laughed and shook his head. “No, Mr. Wilson, if what you are looking for exists, you can’t rely on the police here to help you.”
“Even in the organized crime department?”
“Especially here. The Yakuza have people in every level of government. They are part of our life. We either learn to live with it or we end up dead.”
Bishop thought he spotted the slightest frustration on the policeman’s face, and then it was gone.
“Can you hook me up with the Yamaguchi?”
“I will mention it to the right people and they will know you are coming. If you catch the train to Kobe tomorrow they will find you.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“Of course, but the Yakuza will always give you a warning before killing you. Show respect for their ways and they will extend you that courtesy.”
“What if they’re the ones behind the Mori-Kai?”
“That is unlikely. The Yamaguchi are involved in many things, but selling women into slavery is not one of them. Strip clubs and prostitution are more their style. They tend to value honor more than profits.” Baiko got up from his chair and gestured for the door. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a meeting that I must attend. We must leave now if I am to see you out.”
CHAPTER 38
THE PENINSULA TOKYO HOTEL, TOKYO
“Room 1407, Mr. Wilson.” The concierge handed him a cardboard slip with his room pass in it. “Your lady friend has already checked in.”
“Thanks.” Bishop took the pass and made for the elevators.
“You also have a package.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Bishop turned back to the counter, where the concierge had deposited a tough-looking Pelican case.
He rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor as he mulled over the information that Baiko had given him. He had already purchased two tickets for the bullet train to Kobe. The plan to meet the Yamaguchi was sketchy but it was all they had. He would run it past Saneh and see what she thought.
He reached room 1407, knocked on the door, and swiped himself in. The bathroom door was shut, the shower running. He dropped his bag in the corner, taking no notice of the sweeping city views through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He placed the heavy Pelican case on the bed and swept his iPRIMAL over it. The device synced and the case’s lock opened with a snap.
Inside was a block of foam. He removed it, revealing three pistols, complete with suppressors, holsters, and loaded magazines.
“It’s amazing what you can get sent by FedEx nowadays,” Saneh said as she walked out wrapped in a robe.
“Only if you know the right people.” Bishop closed the box and sat down in a chair; like many things in Japan, it was compact and functional. He gave Saneh a quick update on his meeting with Baiko.
